by Jan Chronister

Blue Bowl in Late October Sun

 

On the braided rug

the glass bowl casts a luminescent shadow,

capturing time in its circle.

 

Outside on trees

single leaves sway

in a metronome rhythm,

heartbeat of death.

They fall fast to the ground;

cold gold coins dumped

from a pirate’s chest.

 

Sunlit bowl

reminds me of New Year’s Lake Superior,

mystery of blue ice

rising and folding like mountains,

jagged broken edges

sharp as glass.

 

If I fill the bowl with water

will it sing like a flute

or howl like the beast below?

-originally appeared in Mush